Gie barely registered what was happening.
One moment, they were tangled in a storm of desperate kisses and frantic touches in his walk-in closet.
The next—
He was lifting her.
His hands slid beneath her thighs, arms strong and sure, lifting her off the ground like she weighed nothing. Her gasp caught somewhere between shock and surrender as she instinctively wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her legs circling his waist. Her body pressed flush against his, her breath ragged against his neck, lips brushing hot skin.
She had never been in his bedroom before.
Never crossed that invisible threshold.
But now—now he carried her there like he'd been planning it all along.
And the truth was—she wanted it. Badly.
The moment he stepped into the room, she only caught hazy impressions: rich, dark tones of gray and black, the glint of city lights from the floor-to-ceiling windows, a massive bed dominating the space—pristine, untouched.
Until now.
He dropped her onto it—not with care, but with need. With possession.
She landed with a breathless gasp, heat exploding through her body as he climbed over her, covering her like a storm.
His hands were already on her—everywhere.
He tore away her pants, leaving her in nothing but her underwear. The cool air kissed her bare legs, sending a fresh wave of shivers through her.
"You're so beautiful, Gie," he murmured in his deep, low voice.
She blushed under his gaze, heart pounding.
He began undressing in front of her, unhurried, deliberate. He stripped off his pants, then his boxer briefs, and her eyes widened.
She gasped softly.
He was big—thick, flushed, pulsing. Her breath hitched. She wanted to look away, to hold on to her last shred of composure. But the heat in his eyes froze her in place.
She reached behind her and unhooked her bra, letting it fall. His gaze devoured her—hungry, reverent, dark with desire.
He knelt on the mattress, the bed dipping under his weight. His hands returned to her body, slow, firm, reverent—trailing over her bare skin like he was tracing a map he never wanted to forget.
His mouth followed.
Open-mouthed kisses along her neck, her collarbone, lower. His tongue flicked against her skin, his teeth nipped and soothed, until she was squirming beneath him, her body arching into his touch, desperate.
She reached for him, aching for his mouth. But he caught her wrists, pinning them gently to the bed.
His gaze found hers.
Dark. Possessive. Raw.
"Let me worship you," he said.
It wasn't a suggestion.
It was a vow.
A promise to ruin her.
Her breath caught, her body shivering with anticipation as he began his descent.
Slow.
Purposeful.
Like he had all night—and every night after—to learn every way to make her fall apart.
His mouth traced down her stomach. His fingers hooked into her underwear and slid it down with maddening care, baring her completely.
Oh God... this was really it.
Then—
He was there.
The first flick of his tongue sent her spine arching violently off the bed.
A loud, helpless moan broke from her lips. Her hands flew to his hair, his shoulders, the sheets—anything to ground her as he devoured her.
He didn't hold back.
Didn't slow.
Didn't let her breathe.
He ate her like a man starved—like she was the only thing that had ever mattered. His tongue was devastating. Hot, skilled, relentless.
She was already trembling, her thighs quaking, her breath shuddering. When one thick finger slid into her tight, dripping heat, her body jolted, her climax building too fast.
And he knew.
He groaned into her, the vibration against her clit wrecking her.
His grip on her thighs tightened. His tongue flicked with ruthless precision. His hand moved faster, deeper.
"Alexander—" she gasped. His name tore from her throat like a plea, a cry for mercy.
And when he sucked on her clit—
She shattered.
Her body arched, her scream cracked the air as the climax ripped through her like lightning. She convulsed beneath him, undone and exposed.
But he didn't stop.
He licked her through it. Through every wave, every quiver, every sob.
He didn't stop until she was boneless, panting, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes.
Only then—
Only when she collapsed into the sheets, utterly spent—
Did he finally slow.
Finally pull back.
His lips glistened. His jaw was tense with restraint.
He looked up at her.
Eyes burning.
"I hope the city heard that," he murmured, voice low, wrecked, smug.
And Gie—still trembling, still gasping for air—could only stare at him.
Wrecked.
Ruined.